


none so blind (as those who will not listen)

by sassassassin



Series: Fuck propriety [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, about their MEN, loud sipping noises, sip sip, spill that teaaaa, there was not enough of it, this is the sisterly shit ive wanted to see in the show, two stubborn sisters gossiping, yas siiiiis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 03:19:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19123501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassassassin/pseuds/sassassassin
Summary: “But heishappy. The only thing he needs is you. He looks at you like you’re the moon and stars illuminating the night sky.”“And your knight looks at you like youshitroses.”A conversation between two -stubborn- sisters.Sequel to a sense of duty (a tinge of pain)





	none so blind (as those who will not listen)

“Are the gossips as truthful as they claim to be?”

Sansa looked at her sister, wondering what she was talking about. “What gossips?”

“You know, the rumours about your knight and his prowess, his appendage,” said Arya, flopping like a ragdoll onto her sister’s bed. Sansa didn’t answer, and merely looked at her sister, frowning at her now unmade furs. “I’m talking about his magic cock, _gods_ , Sansa. You’re no fun.”

Sansa reddened, fiddling with her dress. “… _I guess_.”

“You _guess_?” huffed Arya, crossing her arms defiantly in front of her. “You can do better than that, Sansa. You’ve written countless speeches before. I think you can sing praise of your nightly visitor’s abilities in bed for your beloved sister.”

“Well, I can’t say they’re wrong,” muttered Sansa, beet red.

She was not as open about such matters as her sister was. Arya had seen countless places, places that were more open to sexual practices, and with cultures often revolving around the freedom to explore one’s self with others; men, woman, or _both -_ sometimes even at once. She wasn’t sure if Arya wasn’t one of the people who had explored such options. After all, her sister had always been much wilder, with a thirst for freedom and for independence that none of them had - a need for exploring and for adventure peppered in the midst. Her father would often say that she had the real wolf in her, something he also said about their aunt Lyanna. It was no coincidence that Jon, albeit half a Targaryen, was in the North. He had a lot of their aunt in him and it certainly made him as much of a wolf as Arya.

 _No wonder they always got along so well_ , she thought, eyeing Arya.

While her and Bran had the Tully look -as well as her two deceased brothers-, Arya and Jon were the only ones who were purely Stark, just like Ned, both in and out. They _belonged_ in the North, and it was the reason why Arya could not stay sailing for too long. The North beckoned her. It was also the reason why she couldn’t stay at Storm’s End endlessly; it was less than eight months ago that she wed Lord Baratheon, and she was already back in the North for a visit. There was a treacherous and prodding part within Sansa that wondered if there was more to Arya’s visit this time, but she surprisingly controlled the urge to accuse her sister of fleeing her husband for some unknown reason. Nevertheless, Sansa didn’t doubt that it wouldn’t take much longer for Arya to visit them again. Winterfell was as much her home as Storm’s End was, if not more.

Sansa thought that after all the horrors they had witnessed at Winterfell, it would feel less like home with time. There was Theon’s betrayal -which she had forgiven him for after his valiant sacrifice to protect her brother-, Ramsay’s takeover and the horrors following their wedding, the battle of the bastards where they had lost Rickon, and finally the Battle of Winterfell, the worst one of them all. It nonetheless did not eat at her love for their home. All she had to do was close her eyes, and she would picture Arya running through the halls after a particularly evil prank she would pull on her, with Sansa shouting indignantly after her sister. She could almost _see_ Bran climbing the walls, Jon and Robb sparring in the yard, and Rickon, who had been but a youngling then, in her mother’s arms as she walked around the castle.

Her father, always the benevolent man, would watch over them, his lips stretched into a soft smile. Day by day, he strayed further and further away from her memory. When she would ask Arya if she remembered their father’s face, she would say yes, without hesitation. It was no surprise, for she had been much closer to him, always avoiding their mother’s disapproval for her boyish nature and bring her closer to their more accepting father. It was moments like these, when she would close her eyes hard and try to picture his face, that she regretted not spending more time with him. She could see the outline of his large body, his northern hair often mimicked by Jon or Arya, but not his eyes, his nose, or his mouth.

She always had the option to look at his statue in the crypts, but following the Battle of Winterfell, the castle had been destroyed at various places, and with the awakening of the dead in the crypts, some statues were damaged from the onslaught. Her father had lost half of his face and his nose. All that was left was his hair, an eye, and the edge of his smile - enough to love him, but not enough to remember him.

All these horrors they had faced had shaped them into the family they were today. Granted, she would have given everything to get back those they had lost, to see their smiles once again and to feel their embrace. But alas, that was not how the world worked. They were lucky to even get Jon back from the dead. It was at least one good thing that came out of all this tragedy. She was also much closer to her sister now, and had come to appreciate her blunt nature, coming through when Arya would sneak into her chambers to converse late at night, or sometimes simply lay on her bed as Sansa wrote letters to send to the other six kingdoms of Westeros. It had helped knock some sense into her, and Sansa could not deny that it had been an important contributor to the happiness she felt these days.

“Are you going to wed him?” asked Arya, taking her out of her reverie.

Her eyes widened, and she looked at her sister with something akin to panic in her expression. “ _Wed_ him?”

Arya shrugged, grabbing a small dagger hidden in her hair and twirling it between her fingers. “Don’t you want to marry him? He clearly wants to marry you. Besides, you guys have fucked more in a few moons than most married couples probably fuck their whole lives. It seems like the right thing to do in your state.”

Sansa bit her lip guiltily at that, and looked away from her sister, who did not miss the odd expression on the redhead’s face. “Well, I do like him, that’s for sure. But wed him? I don’t know if I’m ready for that. I can’t be wed three times in the span of a few years, that would be ridiculous for a Queen.”

“And why not?” scoffed Arya, side eying Sansa. “Remember Lord Errol? Every time he came to see father, he had a new wife at his arm, and no one bat an eye. I wonder if he’d been murdering them.”

Sansa looked at her indignantly. “Arya! He had many wives, and they all seemed very happy with the arrangement.”

“He also had many whores in his bed. I wonder if he had a magic cock like Podrick,” she laughed. “Perhaps it is a southern thing to have women falling over themselves to get in your bed. Be careful, if you make the poor man wait too long, he might start looking elsewhere as well.”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms in front of her defiantly, and ignored the tinge of jealousy rising within her. “I’ll let you know, dear sister, that’s not the only magic thing in him.”

Arya looked at her, surprised at the sudden boldness, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “Please do tell, I’m all _ears_.”

“Oh gods,” whispered Sansa, putting her hot face in her hands. “Do you really want to-”

“Yes,” affirmed Arya, sitting straight and crossing her legs underneath her, smiling from ear to ear. Sansa would have thought it comical for her sister to be so jubilant had her smile not made her look a little… _mad_. Scarily so.

“Well, his… _cock_ is nice and all,” said Sansa, her voice barely above a whisper, fearing that someone walking in the hallway may hear them, “but I like his mouth even more.”

“I see you took notes from that day you saw us in the forge,” smirked Arya, putting her small dagger back into her hair.

“No!” exclaimed Sansa. “He did it on his own. The first time he used his mouth _there_ on me, I swear Arya, I thought I was seeing _stars_.”

Arya smiled giddily. “And his cock? How big is it?”

“It’s… _big_ ,” admitted Sansa, thinking back to the way it had caressed her in all the right places. “I haven’t seen many of them, but he fills me up so well. Sometimes he takes me three, four times in the same night. I didn’t know a woman could peak so much -and repeatedly at that!”

“Do you ever fuck during the day?” asked -or rather _demanded_ \- Arya.

“Arya!” whispered Sansa indignantly. “The _day_?”

“Yes, the _day_ ,” affirmed her sister. “You _do_ know that people can also fuck when the sun’s out, right?”

“Do you…” muttered the redhead.

“Often,” shrugged Arya. “Sometimes I surprise him in the library while he’s reading, and he takes me right there, on the table. He says that he can’t sit there now without imagining my naked body splayed on it. Sometimes it’s against a tree after a training session, or in the bath. I’ve always wanted to have him in the hot springs here.”

“By the gods, I-I never,” muttered Sansa, taking a seat on the chair next to her desk, her face the colour of her hair, “I never had him during the day. He always comes to my chambers at night, it is much easier to evade people’s eyes.”

“You should try it,” shrugged her sister. “It’s rather thrilling. There’s the risk of being caught, and it makes it all much more exhilarating and dangerous.”

“At least you’re married to Lord Baratheon,” said Sansa. “Imagine the scandal if I were to be caught being inappropriate with my knight. Imagine if _Jon_ caught me with Podrick.”

“ _Your_ knight?” mused Arya, quirking a brow, and Sansa flushed. “You’re a _Queen_ , no one would begrudge you for seeking carnal pleasures. Kings do it all the time. Remember Robert Baratheon? The whole realm knew about his escapades, and those same escapades brought Gendry into my life. Besides, you could have anyone’s head if they caught you in a compromising position. Except for Jon, of course. You can’t kill him, I adore him too much.”

Sansa gasped indignantly, ignoring the desire pooling in her abdomen at the thought of sneaking around with Podrick to quickly take advantage of his skilled hands, mouth, and _cock_. “I don’t think it would be wise to start killing people left and right.”

“Left _and_ right?” mused Arya. “You plan to have _that_ much public sex?”

“No,” scoffed Sansa. _Maybe_. “It would be too… _indecent_.”

“Then marry him,” shrugged Arya. “You won’t have that problem anymore, and no more suitors would travel for moons to ask for your hand. He cares about you and makes you feel good, and you deserve someone who’s enthusiastic about your pleasure, someone who loves you – and don’t argue with that, it’s as clear as day.”

“Arya,” said Sansa, looking down at her feet.

Arya sighed, her eyes softening at her sister’s vulnerability. “He’s not Ramsay, you know.”

Sansa shuddered at the name. It had been so long since anyone had uttered it, it was like a cursed word around the castle. “I know that. By the gods, he’s-he’s incredible. But I can’t.”

Arya groaned, frustrated. “What are you afraid of?”

Her sister looked at her indignantly, crossing her arms in front of her chest, suddenly feeling like they were when they were younger, always arguing and often at odds. “What are _you_ afraid of?”

“Pardon me?” said Arya, quirking an inquisitive brow.

“You’re fleeing something,” retorted Sansa. “I know you love the north, but you’ve been married for less than a year and you’re already back here. What gives, dear sister? Having marital troubles?”

Arya bit her lip, feeling guilt seep into her. “It’s nothing.”

“Arya,” whispered Sansa, her eyes softening. “It’s not _nothing_. You haven’t explained why you’re here, and you haven’t written to Gendry yet, and it’s been nearly a week.”

“I-” started her sister, emotion rising up to her throat, “it’s because of the heirloom matter, alright? Everyone thinks they have the right to give their opinion, those damn meddlers. Some lords told us that we should start thinking about having kids, can you believe the audacity? They might’ve just as well told us to start fucking in front of them.”

“You are too vulgar,” chastised Sansa. “Besides, I thought you wanted to adopt an heir into the Baratheon name.”

“We do, but I just- I feel so guilty that I can’t give him a child,” she continued, the words seeping out of her. “He’s done so much for me, and I can’t even give him the one thing he wants. I’ve asked him long ago to be my family, and now that we have the chance to become one, we _can’t_.”

“He loves you,” replied Sansa. “The only thing he wants is _you_ , nothing more, nothing less. If you can’t see that, then you’re the biggest fool I know. Besides, you have done just as much for him, if not _more_. By the gods, you _killed_ the Night’s King. The world owes you their lives, you have paid any depts you think you might owe anyone for the next few lifetimes.”

Arya laughed for a moment, before she recalled the night she woke up drenched in blood, a searing pain in her stomach that reminded her of that day the Waif had repeatedly plunged a knife into her. For a moment, she had considered the idea that the faceless men had tracked her, and sent the Waif to finish her task, before she recalled that she had carved out her face and mounted the bloody mask onto the wall of faces. Reality had caught up with her when she had placed her hand between her legs, and it came out drenched with the blood of her unborn babe, the one she had been impatiently waiting to announce to her husband.

“We lost a babe,” she admitted, her hands fidgeting with her short tunic, refusing to look her sister in the eyes. “You should have seen him, he was crushed.”

Sansa’s heart broke at her sister’s words, her voice filled with emotion. It was so unlike her to show so much vulnerability, and Sansa knew that the loss they suffered had affected her more than she showed.

“Oh, Arya,” guiltily muttered her sister. “I’m so sorry. That’s-that’s a terrible thing to happen to anyone.”

“I didn’t know how to feel when it happened. When I first learned that I was expecting, I was terrified, but I was also a little happy. I wanted Gendry to be happy as well, and when I lost it, it felt like losing a part of me. It felt much worse than when the faceless men tried to strip me of my name.”

“Arya,” said Sansa. “If this is about him, you should not feel guilty. It is not your duty to bear him children. I thought you strayed away from those preconceptions. The thought of losing a child is horrible on its own, but I always thought that you never wanted to bear a babe.”

“I know, I know,” hastily interrupted Arya. “I feel so conflicted. It is true that I never wanted children, to raise them like all those ladies confined to their castles, breastfeeding and tending to them all day. But with Gendry…it was never going to be that way. He makes me feel free, and the thought of giving him a babe doesn’t repulse me as much as it should.”

They were silent for a moment, and Sansa wanted to run to her sister and hold her in her arms to comfort her -but she did not. She knew that if she did that, Arya would think that Sansa thought her weak, and would immediately retreat into the safety of her emotionlessness.

“The maester said that getting pregnant again may kill me,” said Arya guiltily. “I have known this for years, but I wanted to keep it.”

“Arya!” gasped Sansa. “Why would you tempt the gods like this?”

“There is only one god, the god of death, and his answer came fast when he took the babe from me,” she laughed humourlessly. “I guess there wasn’t enough danger in my life and I thirsted for a new taste of adventure.”

“That’s not funny, Arya,” coldly replied her sister, and Arya felt a little remorseful for her failed attempt at humour.

“Perhaps it is my punishment for not giving him the names he asked of me,” mused Arya, her thoughts faraway, back to a time when things were much easier -and yet, so much harder. “If I could not take the lives he wanted me to take for him, then I cannot bring new ones into the world either.”

Sansa fiddled with her dress -a nervous habit she developed back at King’s Landing-, and breathed deeply through her nose, not knowing what to say to her sister. The details of her past were still a mystery, for Arya rarely divulged what happened to her on the road back to Winterfell. Sansa knew that her barrenness had to do with the long scars she once saw littering her abdomen and sides when they had bathed together in the hot springs. She had refused to comment on those, fearing that she may drive her sister away by prodding at her - _literal_ \- old wounds.

“He cried, you know,” Arya admitted after a moment of silence, thinking of his red eyes and drenched cheeks. “When he learned that I could have died, he cried until he was sobbing, and made me promise to never get pregnant again.”

“Then I don’t know why you feel so guilty for not being able to conceive,” said Sansa. “He would never push you into anything you don’t want, or anything that would put your life in danger. You’re more important to him than anything else.”

“I am deeply aware of that, but I simply can’t help it. I just-I spent so long being someone else, being _selfish_ , always thinking about myself. Being with him feels right, I feel like I belong there, and the only thing I ever want to do now is make him happy.”

Sansa clicked her tongue at her sister, suddenly missing the emotionless assassin that had suddenly shown up back at Winterfell all those years ago. There was nothing wrong with being selfish. Being a pawn in other people’s hands all her life, Sansa had sought to take care of herself for so long. It had taken her nearly forever to become independent -and she only truly felt her freedom once she became a Queen. There had to be a lot of scheming and death for her to get where she was. Arya, in a similar manner, had also been a pawn, always on the run, with no control over her life, before she regained back her name and came back to the north. Now, Sansa could not for the life of her understand what had gotten into her sister, the same sister who had refused a proposal under the guise of not being a lady.

“But he is happy,” insisted Sansa, irritated by her sister’s stubbornness. “You are infinitely worse than I am. The only thing he _needs_ is you. He looks at you like you’re the moon and stars illuminating the night sky.”

“And your knight looks at you like you shit roses,” retorted Arya with a dry laugh, attempting to diffuse the tension. The conversation had gone too far, and she got carried away by her emotions. Looking back at the way she had reacted, she suddenly felt embarrassed by her demonstration of vulnerability.

“I know you’re trying to diverge the conversation, and I am fine with that. I just want to leave you with one last thought,” said Sansa. “There is nothing wrong with letting yourself feel things. It’s good for your soul. But you should stop feeling guilty. Some things cannot be changed. Gendry has everything he needs in the world, and if you can’t see that, then you’re nothing but a fool who risks losing him for good this time.”

Arya bit her lower lip, thinking for a moment, and nodded at Sansa. “Alright. I will think about it. But you also need to think about _Ser_ Podrick. You may lose him as well if you don’t decide what’s his place in your life. It can’t just be your bed, and the poor guy won’t always be your little toy. He might want to start a family one day, a _real_ family.”

“Alright,” mimicked Sansa with a soft smile tugging at her lips, guilt now tugging at _her_ heart. “Now get out of my chambers. It is nearing the hour of my appointment with my knight.”

“Duly noted, your majesty,” replied Arya, standing up and bowing low to her sister. “Do tell me about this… _meeting_ in the morning.”

Sansa laughed heartily, embarrassed at her sister knowing about her night visitor, and Arya promptly left the room, making one last obscene gesture to her horrified sister, but feeling lighter than before.

Perhaps Sansa would be the one to knock some sense into her this time.

**Author's Note:**

> im just trying to write arya and sansa as multidimensional characters, and not as the emotionless assassin and the ice cold bitch the show was adamant about portraying them as. Oh well, i hope i succeeded ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> next part should come pretty quickly. it's like 90% written. It's a little longer and more fleshed out, heavily focused on podsa, and will be published in multiple parts (in the same work tho)  
> thanks for reading once again, please leave some feedback! and until next time my dudes  
> (title comes from the book american gods, one of my absolute favourites. you guys should read it)


End file.
